The Forgotten Simpson
by chronolegionnaire
Summary: Marge Simpson fan fiction. This is a mature sex story. Marge gets sick of Homer's selfishness and attention-seeking, and starts exploring herself.
1. Chapter 1

**The Forgotten Simpson**

Homer promised over and over again to Marge, "This weekend we'll do something honey, we'll drop the kids off at your sisters, then we'll see where the night takes us."By Friday night Marge was getting excited. She'd had the kids pack their own bags and even their strained protests at having to stay with their crabby old aunties sounded like music to her ears. Patty and Selma picked them up not 10 minutes after they'd finished school - tough luck for them.

But for Marge is was a chance to pamper herself. After half an hour in the bath her hair had drooped from its usual erect position on top of her head. With a contented sigh she submerged beneath the level of the water re-emerging a couple of seconds later with it around her shoulders. Half an hour was long enough to soak in the bath, she thought to herself, even if she could lie here all night. With that, she worked shampoo into her masses of blue hair with her tapered fingers causing bubbles to froth from inside the dense thicket. After washing out all of the soap, she reluctantly let the relaxing water go, hopefully taking with it all her stresses.

"What have I got to be stressed about?"she asked her reflection in the mirror, "the dishes not being clean?"She sarcastically lambasted herself as if she felt guilty for her continued position as a lowly housewife. There must be some medium, she wondered, between the emptiness of this domestic void and the hi-flying academic, professional life that Lisa so often fantasised about?

"Ah, what they hey"she dismissed choosing to think only of the weekend ahead. She turned on the hairdryer and began to dry her long, curly azure locks as she inspected her similarly blue tuft of pubic hair which she always kept trimmed in a heart shape. Not that Homer ever noticed and she wondered again why she made the effort. Over the past couple of weeks she'd let it get a bit overgrown down there, so after drying her hair she took to carefully pruning the blue heart just above her nether regions. She didn't like using a blue hair dye so close to her sensitive parts but it just looked too good. Maybe Homer would notice tonight?

With her hair wrapped in a tall pink towel, she entered her bedroom naked. The cool autumn breeze from the open window caressed her body causing her nipples to harden and her skin to pimple. "What to wear?"Truth was, she'd been wondering about what to wear for the past week since Homer finally promised to take her out. It had been so long since she'd been out at the weekend and even longer since she'd gone shopping for a dress. Her wardrobe didn't make the best viewing.

"Pink Chanel suit, can't wear that..."Eventually, she decided on the only thing in her wardrobe that looked presentable: a silky, low back dress which reached down to just above her knees. It looked stylish but discreet, which would be perfect since Homer hadn't elaborated on where they were going yet.

Her bum wiggled in the air from her closet as she she dug out a pair of black court shoes with a 4 inch heel which had collected a layer of dust since they'd been neglected so long. After laying the dress on the bed and placing the shoes next to them, she decided that they did go together as she imagined. Now for the underwear... And an idea instantly presented itself. She reached for her bottom drawer removing it completely from its shelf. The drawer contained many of Marge's dainties but none, she knew, were like the box that lay beneath the drawer. She picked out a small golden, triangular box, and opened it. What had made her buy this? She recalled the moment she handed the box over the counter to the saleswoman, her face flushed and red. It was the first time Marge Simpson had ever invested in a thong. She picked out the stringy piece of underwear: it was hot pink with a sheer nylon panel in the front, and so skimpy.

For the first time in her life Marge slipped on a thong, pulling it up her legs and allowing the back string to find its home between the two golden globes of her fleshy bum. Impatiently, she inspected it in the mirror and the sight that greeted her made her feel naughty.

"It really shows off my buttocks!"she giggled.

From another drawer she pulled out her nail polish kit and began spreading her toes with the separator before applying a hot pink polish that was similar in colour to her new underwear. While her toenails dried, she spent more time on her hair and ever so slowly the mountain started to grow like a totem pole: instantly recognisable, instantly Marge Simpson. After that was done she painted her fingernails, had a coffee and patiently waited some more.

She decided to wear the dress without a bra rather than risk choosing a bra that might clash with her new thong. Now for her legs... Pantyhose or stockings? Her devilish side shouted for the stockings but her more cautious side warned her of the transparent panel in the front of her thong.

"HHmmmmmm"she pondered aloud.

The pantyhose won out, but she didn't leave her devilish side empty handed. The nude, 5 denier pantyhose were from Victoria's Secret and were almost entirely seamless. She bunched up one of the feet before placing one of her fine, shaven stems into the delicate sheer fabric. It instantly stretched around her pale skin, tanning it while seeming invisible to all but the closest observer. Gently and sensually she rolled the leg up over her knee before switching to the other leg and doing the same. Before long, her shapely apple bottom was clad tight in nylon. And sure enough, through the two layers of nylon was her blue tuft of heart shaped pubic hair and just a hint of her sex. Perfect.

"If Homer doesn't tear all this off me I'm going to divorce him!"she threatened herself lustily in the mirror.

Finally, she took care of her make-up and finished off her hair which stood imperious and tall, yet feminine and silken. 20 minutes later and Marge could smell her own perfume as she carefully descended the stairs.

She found herself staring at the clock: 5:50. Homer should have been home by now and she was getting hungry. Which made her worried, because if she was hungry then her husband certainly was. She undid her shoes, placing them by the front door and carefully sat in front of the television to wait.

Her manicured finger stabbed at the remote control flicking through the channels as she uncrossed her legs and recrossed them the other way, still feeling the sexiness of everything she had on. "Where is he?"Half an our passed and still no sign of Homer. Out of desperation she sat through an episode of Family Guy before picking up her cell phone and ringing Homer. His phone was definitely on, but there was no answer.

"Hmmph!"she hung up angrily and redialled. No answer, just his unfunny answering machine message which proved too long to endure through to the beep.

For the next hour she flicked through television channels and called Homer's phone, feeling more and more like a forgotten wilting flower. Again and again the phone rang but there was no answer. At 9pm and still fully dressed Marge made herself something to eat. She sat back down in front of the TV with a sandwich and watched some of the music channels. When she was younger she used to love music, but since marriage she'd really forgotten it existed. Still, the pop sounded familiar and the rock sounded strained, but it all seemed so very deeply hollow and safe. She tried Homer's phone another 3 or 4 times only for it to go to the answering service each time.

It was now 10pm and it was seeming more and more like she'd been stood up in her own home with nobody to even notice. It was the story of her life and that thought made her feel miserable and unwanted. Listlessly, she flicked through onto the next channel. After the adverts finished two women appeared talking into the camera, "Rumour has it, that if you go low enough Ludacris will appear in the mirror!"

After a second Marge realised that it was a hip hop channel. She'd obviously heard of the genre, but had never really paid it any real attention before. Out of boredom she watched as the women started strutting and dancing in a bedroom in front of a mirror, presumably trying to get the rapper to appear. It all seemed so tacky and cheap, but as the beat kicked in Marge found it oddly rhythmical and soon began to subconsciously tap along with her foot. The song clattered and clunked dramatically as the voluptuous ladies shook their hips and gyrated reaching the ground as the song so often suggested.

"Well, their men must certainly make them feel sexy to get them to dress and dance like that!"The comment sounded a lot more envious than she'd intended. The song seemed to intoxicate the dancing women of varying ethnicities who all boogied to the music as if they couldn't stop. Marge tapped her foot even more, "If only I had the confidence to dance like that... or the opportunity!"she muttered. "Maybe I've missed out?"

The song ended to a groan of approval from Marge, "Mmmm, well, at least it was different... and had some energy... and a nice beat!"

After a few more songs she was starting to feel less depressed and after another hour she was beginning to forget about Homer's no show. She turned the TV up, "I loooove that beat!"she giggled to herself as Flo Rida's 'Low'played, "maybe I've found my genre? If I had some wine I'd get up and dance myself."

Her eyes widened, and with that she jumped up and quickly pulled on her high heels and drove off to the Kwik-E-Mart.

"Oh, Mrs Simpson, you are looking divine tonight!"Apu declared appreciatively as Marge handed over the bottle of wine to be scanned.

"Yeah well, you're the only one to notice, so I guess if nobody cares I can just please myself!"

Upon returning home Marge got undressed and settled into her dressing gown before heading back down stairs. As she sipped the wine her anger dissipated. Was it really such a surprise that Homer was out doing God-knows-what? No, it was entirely within character. Maybe she should be angry with herself for trusting him?

"Well, from now on I'll just please myself,"she reasoned, turning the volume up some more until she could feel the bass vibrating. Every song that came on seemed to make her want to dance: she nodded her head, tapped her feet and hands, moved her shoulders. What was it that made her body move? As time progressed on she noticed the videos seemed to objectify women more and more who were wearing less and less. But strangely, it seemed to make sense that all these young women were dancing around in their thongs: it was the beat, rhythm, they couldn't help it.

"Maybe I'm having a midlife crisis?"she asked herself.

It was now around 2am and Marge had emptied three quarters of the bottle of wine. Since it had taken her so long to drink the effects weren't all that pronounced: she felt happily tipsy, but in control. The same however could not be said of her husband, who announced his arrival with a loud bang outside the house. Instinctively, Marge flicked off the TV, plunging the living room into darkness. There was another bang behind the front door, then the sound of jangling keys, then a slurred "d'oh,"then more jangling keys. The front door then swung open and Homer landed flat on his face in the hall. Marge remained as quiet as a mouse as her husband struggled to his feet and tried to tiptoe upstairs oblivious that the door was wide open behind him. Within a matter of seconds his deafening snoring rang throughout the house.

Marge's first instinct was to wake Homer up and shout at him but then another thought stopped her, "Please yourself - he does!"She got up and closed the front door, returned to the living room and flicked on the TV. The defiant thud of hip hop filled the room and the suburban mother's senses making her feel rebellious. The TV seemed so loud she had to go out into the hall to check if Homer was still asleep. Sure enough, his deep snoring was still there. Defiantly Marge turned up the TV again and poured out the rest of the wine as 'Hot In Herre'by Nelly pumped aggressively. It was almost as if it was somehow forbidden for a white woman and mother who was nearly 40 to be listening to such music at such a time, especially considering the circumstances. And it really didn't help that the music sounded so sexually charged.

"Get up, up, up on the dancefloor!"she sang along, shifting in her seat before giggling once more. "Oh what the hell!"she stood up, threw her dressing gown off and tried to shake her ass like the women in all the videos she'd seen. For the entire time she'd sat watching she'd been wondering if she could pull it off. Her bare boobs jiggled around and her ass gyrated. Of course, it wasn't as natural or fluid as the women on TV but through her tipsiness Marge didn't think she was doing too badly.

"I can certainly see why this is so popular!"The next song on was Money Maker, which had a beat that the mother of 3 simply couldn't ignore. The more Marge danced, the more she got used to it until she was moving her ass perfectly in time. She only danced to a couple of songs, but it made the so frequently bored housewife feel liberated. Finally, at 4am she went to bed next to her snoring husband.

The next morning things seemed to continue as normal. Homer tried to pretend he wasn't hungover, but Marge fought the urge to set him straight. Instead, she felt mildly embarrassed at the thought of her actions the previous night, but as ever, nobody even knew. Her husband didn't even notice the kids weren't home. After another boring Saturday night, Marge picked them up on Sunday afternoon and life carried on. It was as if Homer had completely forgotten about the promises he'd made to his wife the previous week, but Marge was sick of reminding him to care.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2 **

On the Monday Marge headed into town after dropping Maggie at playgroup, determined to buy something for herself to make up for Homer's neglect. After a good few hours, she'd bought nothing and had spent her entire time looking through clothes for Bart and Lisa.

"Huhhhh, it's impossible. Why do I feel so guilty for indulging myself?"

"Um, I might be able to answer that."

Marge turned around to find herself staring at the ever chirpy Lindsey Naegle.

"Hello Mrs...?"

"Marge Simpson," Marge answered.

"I'm Lindsey Naegle, Megamart's new resident Retail Therapist and I can help you get over your niggling moral issues so you can be reunited you with your avaricious child spirit."

Marge looked suspicious, "Really? That sounds like exactly what I need..."

"Mrs Simpson we've had cameras trained on you for the past 2 hours. After ruling you out as a tramp or potential shoplifter, we were able to pinpoint you as a lower middle class housewife and mother dependent on her husband's paltry income."

Marge furrowed her brow as Ms. Naegle continued.

"And we've concluded with an 82.7% degree of probability that you're feeling guilty for spending his pittance."

"My husband earns more than a pittance!"

Ms. Naegle smiled knowingly, "Wonderful, then all we need to get you to do is feel comfortable wielding that hefty credit card." The highly strung, svelte blonde ushered Marge into the woman's section of the store.

Marge tried to shrug her off, "I think I can spend by myself, thank-you very much, Ms Naegle."

"We'd like to believe that, we really would. Here's a simple question Mrs Simpson, if there were no fees or consequences to you choosing an item in this store, what would it be?"

"I beg your pardon," Marge asked, nonplussed.

"Anything in this store, for you, for free. No angry husbands, no starving kids, no carbon footprint, nothing...It's hypothetical obviously, but what would you choose?"

Marge considered the question for a while, "Well, I guess I'd like to get a dress."

"Great! What type - evening, casual? Anything but putrid green, right?"

"I like green!" Marge protested suddenly feeling self-conscious in her day dress.

"Whatever, here's the dress section, choose anything, but don't look at the price tag until I say!"

Marge looked through the racks. After 20 minutes, she turned around holding a little black dress with a golden belt buckle across the front, "hmmm, I like this."

Naegle looked up from her smart phone, "Great Marge, you're doing great! But how about this red dress and what about a pair of shoes?"

Marge suddenly looked flustered by all of the options and possibilities. In what seemed like no time at all she'd spent 2 hours more shopping entirely for herself. She had 4 dresses over her arm and was trying on another pair of heels. Naegle just left her to it for another 20 minutes before returning.

"Hi Marge! How's my favourite shopper?"

"Oh great, Lindsey! I really can't decide between these black strappy heels and these red flats."

"Marge, I'm sure you have plenty of flats, get the heels, treat yourself! Have you looked at the prices yet?"

The housewife searched for the tags on all of the clothes. She gasped, "Oh dear, oh my lord!"

"So, how do you feel?"

"I, I don't know whether I - we - can afford this!"

"Marge, this is your problem, you're so used to sharing everything you own with everybody. Newsflash: you're not Jesus! Now, close your eyes, imagine a calm, serene ocean perfect in every way. Let the sound of the gentle waves soothe you into blissful relaxation. Now imagine the most selfish person you know destroying everything, tearing it all down. Now, become that person. What would they do?"

Naegle's words rung around Marge's head. Yes, she was being manipulated by a corporate shill, but all the housewife could imagine was Homer. Homer. Homer. Homer. Homer's gluttony, Homer's sloth, Homer being reminded to care about somebody other than himself.

"Marge, you love shopping as much as any woman but a voice in your head has dominated you for far too long..."

"You know, you're RIGHT!" Marge suddenly erupted, "Now, please excuse me, I haven't finished shopping."

A big grin crossed Naegle's face and she gave a thumbs up to a security camera.

20 minutes later Marge had a small black dress, a new shorter red day dress, sheer blouse and pencil skirt and a pair of 5 inch and 5.5 inch heels in her hands. She'd always restricted herself to 4 inch heels in the past because it would make her taller than Homer, but since he would never consider her, she justified it readily. Then, as she marched towards the pay counter something caught her eye in the lingerie department.

'2 for 1 Sexy Offer,' the message read. She picked up the discrete triangular box knowing what it contained before grabbing another 3 of the triangular boxes and heading for the counter. $300 later and she had 3 new outfits, shoes and enough sexy thongs to get her through more than a week.

Ms. Naegle smiled at Marge as she hauled her shopping from the store, "You go girl, you really beat that voice of conscience to death!"

The blue haired mother of 3 blushed with embarrassment before continuing on her way. She did it. All of that was for her. Three hundred dollars gone, just like that.

As she walked through the mall a familiar, uninhibited sound washed over her. That music, where had she heard it before? She entered the music shop and asked behind the counter what was playing.

The young girl chewing gum looked at her with disdain, "Ludacris, How Low from Battle of the Sexes."

Marge suddenly felt too old to be interested in such things, went bright red and gulped, "oh, um, thank-you." The look from the young girl was enough to put Marge off and she immediately shrunk from the store. She headed back to the car feeling disappointed, muscled out of something she liked, something she wanted to explore. Then an image of Homer entered her head again, getting drunk, eating as much as he could, buying pointless objects... Marge about turned.

"Wow, that retail therapy really works!" she considered to herself as she marched unashamedly into the music store's hip hop section. Sure enough there was the album, 1 copy left. Her heart rate quickened; she'd never bought anything like this before - Ludacris certainly wasn't The Beatles - but what difference did it make if she liked it and it made her happy? Who cares about other people's opinions about what music she should and shouldn't listen to? Marge felt her palms become sweaty and that previous burst of confidence ebb dry. There were a lot of other young people moving past her and looking at the CDs which was causing her to lose her nerve.

She caught sight of a shop assistant, "Oh excuse me, excuse me!" He disappeared. "Oh, just buy it, who cares what people think!" She reached forward and picked up the last copy with a gulp.

"Ohhww!" moaned a 17 year old girl who was about to pick it up too but Marge beat her to it. Marge gave her a smile that said 'this is mine'! She headed for the pay counter.

The gaunt looking assistant gave her another strange look but Marge's gaze held firm.

"That'll be 10 dollars please" the girl requested.

Marge fumbled in her purse, "Oh, I was wondering, also, I'm looking for another song called 'The Whisper Song', do you know it?"

The girl looked even more disturbed and disgusted, "Umm yeah, its by The Ying Yang Twins, but we only have it on album. Do you want me to get it for you?"

Marge turned beet red again, "Umm, I guess so." The girl disappeared rolling her eyes.

She arrived back, put the CDs through the checkout and said "20 dollars."

Marge handed it over and left the store to a feeling of elation. She'd actually invested in one of HER interests! Not one of Homer's crazy schemes, not the kids, nobody but Marge. She got in the car and tore open the CD before pushing 'United State of Atlanta' into the player. After the intro the beat rocked the car.

"Mmm, so many gratuitous uses of the 'N' word" she grumbled. The song sounded a lot harder and aggressive than she was anticipating, and certainly not what the single 'The Whisper Song' made her expect. Marge hit the school traffic but didn't grumble as she listened to the CD. It wasn't what she had anticipated, if she was honest, and she was struggling to find a reason why she was listening to it until another of the radio-esque interludes came on and the mood changed. The conversation focused on sex but only lasted for a minute or so before 'Wait - The Whisper Song' came on.

"This is more like it" the usually demure housewife thought to herself. She turned the volume up. The song was so stripped down and bare, yet so sensual and sexy.

"Its like snuggle music!" she giggled naughtily. Marge already knew what this song was all about and the thud of the drums was causing her pussy to tingle as she revelled in the salesgirl's disdain for her buying a CD like this. She also considered what her husband's reaction would be if he knew she liked this music. What would he say? Would he be shocked? Feel threatened? She couldn't imagine that Homer would be accepting of her newfound interests. Marge continued to tap her foot to the hypnotic, sexual beat.

The housewife focused on the lyrics before brazenly joining in, "Beat the pussy up!" After learning the lyrics a little bit more she altered them slightly, "Beat MY pussy up!" She grinned devilishly pushing the volume nob up some more so the car vibrated with the beat. "I could sure go for some of that right now" she mused.

Another sexy skit followed before the next song, 'Pull My Hair'. "Oh my," she gasped as the lyrics became even bluer but the deep voice had her entranced. She had half a mind to turn it down, but instead she turned it up to full volume.

The baritone rapper continued to talk about "beating the pussy up" which caused Marge to blush further. But that was nothing to compared to the woman who begged to be spanked and have her hair pulled in the chorus. The song ended and Marge was creaming her panties as she pulled into the drive.

The housewife unloaded her new acquisitions from the trunk of the car and took them upstairs, all apart from the hip-hop CDs which remained concealed in the glove compartment of her vehicle. As she unwrapped her selection of skimpy thongs, she decided it was time to stop being so abashed about it, and unloaded them into her bottom panty drawer. She also took several pairs of unsexy panties and tossed them in the bin. "Hmm, I wonder if Homer will notice?" she asked herself with little expectation that he would.

In bed later that night Homer was pawing at her breasts and Marge was batting him off. She could smell beer on his breath, but he wasn't drunk. This usually happened before sex, but Marge was determined not to give in so easily tonight, at least to make him pay for his neglect.

"Oh come on Marge, let's get frisky!" he suggested.

"Homey, no, not tonight, I'm not in the mood."

He pinched her nipple trying to get it hard but her hand intercepted once more. Undeterred, Homer continued his playful assault until Marge snapped.

"NOT TONIGHT I SAID!"

Homer blinked with shock for a second. "Wow, what's gotten into you?"

"Nothing...and nothing will!"

"Wow...OH I understand, honey!" Homer backed down reasoning that she must be on her period.

Marge just shook her head and bit her tongue. She'd really wanted to tag on "and you're not going to for a long while!" onto her comment but managed to hold back.

10 minutes later Homer was snoring heavily leaving Marge staring at the ceiling. Far from being empty, however, her head was full of the lyrics from those CDs she'd invested in. "How do they get away with being so naughty?" she pondered. No matter how they got away with it, it was having a profound effect on the housewife and her mind kept considering the illicit CDs in her car. It was almost like having a porn stash. She glanced over at Homer once more then decided she could stand it no longer so she slipped out from beneath the bed sheets wearing only one of her new thongs.

The 40 year old housewife casually strolled from her bedroom, across the landing then down the stairs, in total confidence and in total ease at her nudity. She knew none of the children would be up, just as she knew Homer would be out for the night. She also knew nobody would notice her, because nobody ever does.

"The role of the mother, the boring housewife," she thought to herself. The glow from the TV quickly lit the front room as Marge relaxed bare-breasted on the couch with her legs up. Hip hop after hip hop video came on and she quickly began to realise that she didn't like all of the genre, just the naughty songs. Being late at night, there were plenty to choose from and Marge felt the desire to masturbate. Throughout her life she had rarely pleasured herself, deciding instead that only shameless women did that. Nevertheless, from time to time, she gave in and fingered herself but she always found having an orgasm difficult. But something different was occurring this time. "What did it matter? If nobody notices, who cares?" the thoughts repeated.

Her nipples were large and hard as the libidinal beats issued forth from the television. She tapped her feet and hands, all the time warring the desire to slip her hand into her thong. "Hmm, maybe if I danced a little this urge will go away? I wonder if I could make my ass move like those ladies'?"

The mother of 3 turned her back to the screen, looked over her shoulder and bent down. She watched as the hip hop honeys booty clapped and tried to imitate them. Sure enough the housewife's buttocks began to sway back and forth until she found the rhythm of the song and her cheeks were softly clapping together. The sight and sound of it sent a thrill through her body and she gradually realised that she could get her 45 inch booty to clap quite loudly.

"Oh why did I never do this before?!" the housewife whispered to herself, "I knew my fat ass would come in good for something!" She giggled and kept swaying to the beat until the song ended but when it did, Marge realised she was wetter than ever. Finally she gave in sitting down on the couch with one leg up and her hand furiously rubbing through her thong.

The 40 year old mother of 3 covered her throbbing pussy in her copious juices before focussing on her clit. "All those women, caught in the hypnotic beat." The hip-hop video panned across a group of large white asses bouncing up and down to the music much to the appreciation of the rappers. "This is what music should be - sexual!"

In the past few years, Marge's hips and ass had gained a lot of weight. No matter what she did exercise or diet wise the pounds just kept going to her thighs. Eventually she put it down to age, but now she was starting to realise perhaps it wasn't such a bad thing. "Maybe it could get me some attention, like these women?" she mused.

The thought ricocheted around her mind, "Me dancing like this in a club - so naughty, so wrong!" The housewife's legs tensed, "UGH! OH, OH, OH" she grunted and panted, rocking her hips and coming hard. It felt liberating to come without it being anything to do with Homer, but still Marge didn't feel finished, so she padded her way topless through to the kitchen and looked in the fridge. There was nothing much exciting, apart from Homer's regulation 6 pack of Duff beers.

"What will Homer make of this?" smirked the housewife as she took a tin and sat back down in front of the TV. 4 cans later and the housewife was masturbating again. "Oh, its this music is like an aphrodisiac!"

Once again the housewife considered herself in the position of the hip hop honeys, or in a club, a mother and wife entranced by the dirty beat. It felt so wrong for a woman like her to love it so much, but she did. What would Flanders think? What would Timothy and Helen Lovejoy make of it? What would her sisters think? What would Homer think? She came hard but in complete silence, her eyes closed and cheeks blushing furiously. At just past 2am Marge returned to bed and fell asleep instantly.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"AGH!" Homer shrieked, "ok, ok, don't panic. Where has my beer gone... AGAIN?"

Marge just kept her head down as she sorted through her illicit collection of naughty hip hop mp3s on her computer.

"BOYY!" the tubby 42 year old bellowed at the ceiling, "BOOOOOOOOYYYYYYYYYYYYYY, get down here!"

"Oh for Pete's sake," Bart emerged from the living room, "what is it now, I'm missing the Krusty's Uncle Sigmoidoscopy Special?"

"Come here, boy" Homer tapped on the dining table impatiently.

Bart moved suspiciously towards his seemingly well meaning father. "Now, we've had this talk before… about how Daddy's beer helps him to relax."

"Homer, we all know its to help you forget the mess you've made of your life."

"Why you little…!"

"Homer..." Marge interrupted before her husband's hands could snake around the nascent teenager's neck, "I drank the beer."

There was a silence. Bart scarpered.

The heavy-set man blinked for a second, "You drank my beer?" he emphasised with utter disbelief.

"Yes, I was kind of bored."

"Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait just a minute… YOU drank MY beer?" His incredulousness became offensively apparent.

The housewife's gaze hardened, "Yes. Yes, I did."

He began again, "YOOUU drank MYYY…"

"Oh for God's sake, Homer! I drank your gosh-darn beer! ME, your wife, your slave, the boring one, the one that nothing ever happens to!"

Lisa was stood in the doorway, eyes wide, holding her homemade carrot juice, "are you okay, mom?"

Marge shook her head and muttered, "yeah, yeah, just get back in your place, Marge."

"Well, I feel violated!" Homer exclaimed melodramatically, "I shall have to go out to replenish the stock this instant." With a harumph, the rotund man stood, opened the door to the basement and retrieved another 6 pack.

Marge continued to organise her songs into playlists that met with her fancy. 'Snuggle Anthems 1' was now finally complete and volume 2 was quickly taking shape. An hour of the dirtiest hip hop beats built up from recommendations from the Internet. Despite investing in a few CDs, Marge quickly found that the Internet was a much more discreet way of indulging her newfound taste for the most risque urban music around. She sent the playlist to her MyPhone with secret delight barely even noticing Homer huff past to his station in front of the TV.

Lisa observed her mother as she completely blanked Homer. It wasn't the first time she had noticed it recently. Something was going on. The inquisitive 10 year old furrowed her brow before retreating to her room for further analysis.

Over the next few weeks Marge increased her number of songs exponentially, filling her MyPhone with so much music it was impossible to listen to it all. Many of the songs she'd dug up were produced by local artists from around the country and abroad who, for some reason or another, had never made it big. Others were risque pop anthems that periodically did the rounds. Whenever there was housework to be done, the voluptuous housewife closed the windows, dropped her green dress, attached her MyPhone to Homer's stereo and cleaned in nothing but skimpy, hot pink thong. Every so often the urge would hit and she'd clap that expansive, meaty 45 inch booty, gyrating her hips from side to side, scandalous thoughts zipping through her mind: MARRIED WHITE FEMALE, 3 KIDS, BOOTY QUEEN; CROWD MARVELS AT HOUSEWIFE'S TWERKING; MARGE SIMPSON: BEST BOOTY IN SPRINGFIELD, THE STATE, THE WORLD! "Eat this Miley Cyrus!" Just as Marge was working up to her coup de gras, the doorbell rang, shattering her naughty reverie. She quickly pulled up her green dress over her bare breasts and paused 'Pu$$y' by Iggy Azalea to answer the door.

"Oh hi Aneesha," Marge greeted the college student.

"Is Lisa in?" she asked with more than a hint of desperation.

"No, she's still at school. What's wrong?"

Her disappointment was evident, "Um, you couldn't give her this, could you?"

"Mmmngngng," the blue haired housewife grumbled disagreeably, "you know, you really should be doing your own college work."

"Please, Mrs Simpson, I've got to get a B or better or I'll fail the course!" the cute redhead student appealed to Marge. Lisa had made friends with quite a few college students since being given a scholarship to take accelerated learning classes at Springfield U last year. An unexpected offshoot was that most students there wanted to party rather than pass the course and would pay Lisa to plug the gaps. "That's exactly why Lisa won't be studying there," Marge reminded herself.

"Pleease!" she strained again, "it has to be in tomorrow! I know Lisa and she understands this so much better than I do! She's so gifted."

The girl was clearly trying to butter Marge up. "Well, I don't know, my daughter has her own projects to finish. Why are you so behind that you have to seek out someone almost 10 years younger to do your work?"

"Mrs Simpson, you know how it is, things come up! Please!"

"No, I don't know how it is, actually. Enlighten me." The Simpsons matriarch folded her arms expectantly.

"You know," the pale redhead squirmed, "parties n' stuff..."

"Boys?" Marge enquired.

The girl looked sheepish, "I guess."

"Alcohol? Drugs?" she probed further.

"Naaaoooo! We just dance to music, that's our drug! I mean, sure, there are guys who drink there but its not what you think. Its all about the music, the connection, togetherness."

Marge could hardly disagree about the seductiveness of certain types of music given her recent musical interests.

"Mrs Simpson?"

"Well, OK, I suppose I'll pass it onto her" Marge finally answered to the student's relief, "But first I'd like to know a little more about the girl who loves music so much she can't do her own work."

The freckled 18 year old looked a little ashamed of herself clearly unaccustomed to being disciplined by an elder, "Umm, okay."

Marge invited her in and offered her a drink. "So Aneesha, I'm intrigued about this music. Would you like a beer?"

"Uh, a beer?"

"Yes, a beer, you know, malt, hops, alcohol..."

"Oh, umm sure, Mrs Simpson." Aneesha felt a little bit uneasy, questioning the housewife's motives. Was she going to report her for partying too much?

Marge grabbed one of Homer's Duff cans with a knowing smile and handed it to Aneesha at the kitchen table, "Go on then, tell me, what music is so good its like a drug?"

There was a pause as Aneesha's mind went blank not knowing what to say. Marge continued, "I mean, I wouldn't want my kids to find out about something like this, would I?"

"Oh its nothing terrible, really! Its just pop music, I guess." The curvy teen wrapped her thick lips around the rim of the can and took a swig.

Marge looked doubtful, "Pop music makes you feel like that?"

"Well, you can't take it too seriously. It helps to be drunk, I guess. You've gotta be kinda ironic, you know?"

Mrs Simpson shook her head, not really following what Aneesha was trying to say. "Well, go on, tell me what sort of bands, artists, genres you are talking about."

"Ummm, a bit of, ummm, Rihanna, I suppose. Eminem?"

"Ah ok, I think I've heard of those."

"Er yeah, they're quite popular…"

"When I was your age it was all Beatles, then some glam rock, Marc Bolan, David Bowie, guys wearing make-up, dressing like girls" the blue haired beauty offered.

"Errr, yeah, things aren't like that anymore, thank-god!" Aneesha laughed and took another tentative sip.

Marge laughed too, "So you dance to Rihanna at a student bar?"

"Um, sorta, but it's not for students, there are quite a few clubs in downtown Springfield, actually. But they are quite hard to get into without a..."

"Fake ID?" Marge finished Aneesha's sentence, "Don't worry, with Bart we've seen every trick in the book!"

"Ahahah" she laughed nervously "yeah. You know, I really have to get going, Mrs Simpson..."

"Ok Aneesha, I understand. I just don't want you to be giving all this information to my daughter, now. She's far too young for things like this."

"I haven't said anything to her, I swear, I wouldn't do that, I promise! I know she's too young for what we do."

"What you do?"

Aneesha suddenly had a look of fear in her face, "I mean... the dancing and things."

"Oooohhh, you mean things like grinding, don't you?"

If Aneesha had been drinking the beer she would have surely spat it out. What did this middle-aged housewife know about grinding in clubs? The young college student didn't answer as she played with her drink.

"Lighten up, Aneesha, stop treating me like some out-of-touch mother. That's what my family does and it really gets on my proverbials!"

The redhead laughed.

Marge continued, "You know, someday you'll be 40 too and you'll suddenly realise the world treats you differently!"

"I'm not treating you differently, Mrs Simpson, I swear…"

"Please, Aneesha, call me Marge.."

"Marge, aww, I'm not doing it deliberately!" the girl pleaded.

"You know, the first 20 years of your life might have seemed like an eternity but the next 20 will fly by in a snap of your fingers..."

The ramifications of such a statement was disturbing to both the women and it prompted Aneesha to try another drink of her beer.

"Well…" she began hesitantly, "what's it like being 40?"

Marge pondered the question giving herself time to think by retrieving another of Homer's beers, "Well, I suppose you come to realise where you've ended up." Tssshhh, the can hissed as it was opened, "There's some good, some bad."

"Yeah?" Aneesha was genuinely interested.

"You come to realise that you've been ignoring a lot of the bad in the hope that it will change. Or you've been ignoring it for the greater good."

"That must be a bummer to realise."

"Well it certainly is when you feel like you're the only one pulling in that direction when raising 3 kids! But…" Marge digressed taking a sip of the Duff, "this is all very depressing. I find it much more fascinating that you are able to ignore your responsibilities and just dance!"

"Hahaha" the student laughed, "alcohol has a lot to do with that!"

"Well, I wish I had half the opportunity to dance and just forget everything, even just for one night."

Aneesha picked up the hint, "Well, Kaylee, my best friend, her mom comes with us all the time! I could take you to a club if you really want to see it. You don't have to dance or nothing, plenty of people just stand around the sides watching!"

"Wow! Are you sure?" Marge beemed.

"Yes, definitely. But you've got to know how to handle yourself. There are loads of guys around."

"Oh, don't worry about me," Marge assured the girl feeling her pussy tingling with nervous excitement, "I've had plenty of guys hit on me down the years."

"Look, thanks for the drink, Marge! I really appreciate it, I hope that…"

"Don't mention it," Homer's wife interjected.

"I just hope that Lisa can help with my project"

Marge smiled, "I'm sure she'll have it ready by tomorrow morning."

"Great!" Aneesha beamed, "And I'll give you a call on Friday?"

The 40-year-old blushed at the possibility.

"And we can meet up and we'll go to a club, if you want?"

Marge could barely answer. Her pussy was dripping at the prospect, her mouth was dry and her nipples were starting to poke through the fabric of her green day dress. "Ahem, sure. I'd love that. Anything to escape domestic bliss, right?"

"Hahaha, you're nothing like I expected, Marge!" the girl replied with growing ease.

"OK, see you tomorrow"

With that, the girl disappeared out of the door with a spring in her step.

"See you too" the housewife called half-heartedly after her.

As soon as the door closed Marge ripped down her dress again, retreating to the couch to furiously rub her clit, "Oh gosh, what have I got myself into? What have I got myself into?" The housewife knew it was so wrong to be visiting a club like that without Homer's express permission and without Homer, let alone a club that potentially played dirty hip hop music. She could only imagine what happened there. All that contact dancing, grinding, twerking, booty clapping. Another thunderous orgasm coursed through the now regularly aroused housewife. Another orgasm that her husband was oblivious to.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Lisa was gradually collecting evidence that implicated her father as the likely cause for the apparent distance between her parents. So far, the sleuthing tween had observed him spending his monthly income on dog kennel insurance, a crate of expensive Czech imported Duff called Doof and most worryingly of all, he'd forgotten their anniversary. What Lisa failed to factor into her equations however, was that Marge had forgotten it too. After all, it was utterly unthinkable that Marge would forget such a monumental milestone in the Simpsons calendar year and the smart 10 year old was sure Marge was building up to let him really have it. Time would surely tell.

It was Friday morning and still Marge hadn't received a phonecall from Aneesha. The student had picked up and paid for her essay from Lisa, of course, but there was no sign she would follow through on her promise to invite Marge out. After all, why should she? She had got what she wanted, why would she want some 40 year old cramping her style?

Yet still, the housewife couldn't stop making plans just in case. Patty and Selma were on standby to take the kids and Ruth Powers was a willing alibi if Homer called tonight. The kids left for school little knowing that their crabby old aunties perhaps lay in wait when they got back.

"Playgroup, Maggie! Would you like to go to playgroup?" The infant cried at the prospect of another rigid, objectivist day at the hands of the Ayn Rand Playgroup. "Tough, you're going. I need some mommy time."

The afternoon commenced as it usually did - without any meaningful interaction apart from the kids arriving home. That was until the phone unexpectedly burred. Marge gulped and answered. It was Moe wanting to know why Homer wasn't in his usual seat at the bar by now. It was almost Friday evening after all. The conversation didn't last long as Marge's husband entered Moe's just as he was about to ask Marge what she was wearing. Mrs Simpson put the phone down only for it to ring again immediately.

It was Aneesha, "Hi Marge!" The housewife's heart almost exploded with nerves at the sound of her voice, but she also prepared herself for disappointment.

"Do you still want to see what Springfield clubs are all about?"

Marge could barely muster a word in response, "Ah, aha, huh, SURE!" she gasped.

"Great. We're meeting outside the Gilded Truffle at 7pm. We can't wait around long because we have a cab booked. Hope you can make it!"

"Sure!" Marge gulped again. She had to compose herself. Was this really happening? What would it be like? Who would be there? What if someone saw her? What about Homer?

Feeling faint, she turned the oven off. "Kiiiidds! You're going to your Aunties!'"

They protested, even screamed and shouted but Marge wouldn't hear a word of it and soon Patty and Selma were en route as Marge hit the shower. The housewife's hands shook as she took the razor to her pubic hair, "they might not even play anything resembling those naughty hip hop songs. They might just play old rock," Marge told herself, "nice, inoffensive, boring, middle-aged rock." Her pussy dripped down her legs, "no naughty hip hop songs, no booty clapping, no twerking, no grinding… Maybe we'll just stand there watching a rock band play?"

It was barely a month ago that all this started. Homer had forgotten about his promise to take his wife out once more and now she had arranged to take herself out. It might not be a success but it was just the shot of excitement the bored housewife felt like she needed to feel alive again. Marge pulled out a new black thong with a sheer, silky front panel. It contrasted her skin nicely. No pantyhose this time, she went straight for some black hold ups, inching them up her legs as fast as she could. Next she slipped on her new, ultra-tight strapless red tube dress covering her bare breasts before straightening the hem and seam in the mirror. The dress had a slight, satiny gloss to it that accentuated her curves and fought to hold in the expanse of her ass.

Some patent black 5.5 inch court heels followed before earrings, a necklace and an anklet completed the image of a hot, horny housewife needing some fun in her life. It was six thirty pm and a taxi was en route to pick her up. Plenty of time to get to the Gilded Truffle before 7. Marge gave herself one more appreciative look over in the mirror. She was sure she looked like a sexy vixen but what would other people think? Maybe Homer was right to ignore her? Well, there's only one way to find out she told herself, and with that grabbed her purse. She made it as far as the top of the stairs when the front door suddenly opened...

"Maaarrrge?" Homer's grating voice rang out as she bolted back into the bedroom.

The fat, self-entitled man started to ascend the stairs, "Hey, where is everybody?"

"Oh no, I can't let him see me like this!" Marge stood paralysed with fear.

Homer crept nearer and nearer until he opened the door to find his wife stood before him.

"Why didn't you answer?"

"Aha… I, I was just in the shower!" Just before her husband entered the room she had managed to grab her bathrobe and wrap it around herself, covering most of her hot legs and body.

"Where's Bart and Lisa?"

"I think they're both having sleepovers!" Marge responded instantly.

Their eyes locked for a second, Marge sensing his increasing doubt and her rising nervousness.

"Well, isn't that great? I just came back to grab some of those expensive Doooooof…"

Marge furrowed her brow.

"Ahahaha," her husband laughed nervously, "I mean not expensive, totally inexpensive ordinary Duff! Um, we've um, er, run out at Moe's."

"You've run out of beer at Moe's?" Marge enquired doubtfully.

"Yeah, Moe's really been letting things slide in the beer... department."

"It's all he sells!" the housewife lambasted.

"Yeah," he chuckled, "you know Moe."

"Well" Marge considered her position, "I hope you're not just going to give Moe those beers?"

"Oh no, I've got it all planned out, we'll get a greater return on them, I promise!"

"You'd better!"

Homer gave his uneasy wife a salute and headed out with the word "sucker!" firmly planted in his mind. Not for one moment did he consider that his wife might have plans of her own tonight.

"Just got out the shower, indeed, here I am wearing makeup, jewellery, stockings and heels having just done my hair! This… THIS is why I'm going out!" She took off the dressing gown and watched through the window as he heaved the Doof from the garage only to make use of Marge's taxi that had conveniently parked up outside. No 'D'ohs' this time, the housewife's blood positively boiled. She feverishly phoned another taxi only for them to tell her it would be at least ten minutes. That would be too late to meet the girls. Far too late. The forlorn housewife crashed on the bed in defeat "Noooooo" she whimpered to herself, "why can't I have something, for the love of God!" Then it struck her… God! "Flanders!" she exclaimed. Marge tore down the stairs in her high heels, her skirt riding up to her stocking tops, locking the door behind her as fast as she could. "Flanders has to be in" she breathed.

She pounded on his door. There were a few moments of silence.

"Why hidilly-ho neighbourino!"

"Can you take me in town?!"

Flanders adjusted his glasses at Marge's outfit, "Well I suppose I co…"

The housewife yanked him out of his door leaving it ajar, all the way down to his vehicle, "Drive!"

Flanders just did as he was told, nudging his specs back onto his nose once more.

As they drove, Marge's breath slowly returned, "I hope no one saw that!" with Helen Lovejoy in mind.

The religious man concentrated devoutly on the road as he sped Marge to her destination, never above the speed limit mind. It was 6:59. The clock turned agonisingly to 7:00pm. Then 7:05pm. It was 7:08pm when they pulled up outside The Gilded Truffle. Marge hopped out with a thanks, searching the outside of the restaurant, then the car park. Nothing, no one in sight. All of this was for nothing. Again, she started to deflate, "They've gone without me!" Losing hope, she got out her MyPhone and began to dial the number of the taxi company. "Oh hi," the dependable housewife began, "could I book a taxi to 742 Evergreen Terrace?" Just then a car with blazing headlights honked and careered towards her, forcing her to step back from the road. It was only when it pulled up alongside her she realised who was inside: Aneesha, her friend Kaylee and her mom all waved frantically at Mrs Simpson. It was like a dream. The door opened and she stepped into the vehicle, "cancel that taxi" she heard herself say.

"Wow Marge! We would have missed you if it wasn't for your tall hair!" Aneesha greeted the housewife with enthusiasm.

"Hi Marge! I'm Kaylee and this is my mom, Angie!"

Angie nodded, "Hi Marge"

The blue-haired housewife just smiled back, "I, I thought you'd gone?"

"Well, we were setting off, then Aneesha saw your hair! Its fabulous, you look really hot!" Kaylee exclaimed.

Mrs Simpson blushed.

"Yeah Marge, you're going to have guys all over you. I hope you have an understanding husband!"

Angie chimed in with a wink, "Hey but what he doesn't know won't hurt him!"

Marge found herself just laughing at the comments, swept along by the exciting conversation…


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Saturday morning dawned to the Simpson's household. Homer had fallen asleep in front of the open refrigerator with discarded cheese slice wrappers all around his curled up body. At 6:36am a taxi pulled up and the dishevelled looking Simpson's matriarch emerged from the cab. Her countenance was one of shock, disorientation, of experiences that outstripped her knowledge not only of the world, but of herself. She staggered a bit in her heels before walking tall towards the house, one stockinged leg with runs, the other wrinkling around her knee. Her makeup was puffy and her hair was losing its consistency on top of her head. A weak, shaking hand lifted a key towards the lock and turned it as quietly as a mouse.

The door creaked open. Homer stirred, Marge froze. He stirred again, then burped. Marge entered and closed the door quietly behind her before sneaking upstairs. The shower greeted her body like a confessional where all sins would be washed away. About last night, her mind was frustratingly blank. She tried to remember, tried really hard. She knew where she'd woken up, yes, and that was definitely not a good place. But all the stuff before? The club, the dancing, it was all hidden somewhere in the disjointed, drunken mess of her mind.

Despite all of the confusion, she was deeply aroused, she knew that much. Her tapered fingers felt at her sore sex.

"You're going to lose your virginity tonight" a deep dark voice, a memory re-emerged into Marge's consciousness.

"Oh lord, what have I done? Lose my virginity - what on earth does that mean?"

Marge cleansed herself of all but the memory before drying off, taking a morning after pill and heading to bed. 2 hours of blissful, problemless sleep later and Homer finally joined her, thinking he'd escaped her wrath for over drinking once more.

In the early afternoon, Marge was physically awake to welcome the kids back, but mentally she was still absent. She sat on the couch feeling remarkably little, having doused her body in a light-smelling perfume as if that would cover up any hint of betrayal. "Where's all the guilt?" she asked herself, "I should feel ashamed for what I've clearly done."

Bart and Lisa fought in front of her for control of the TV, but she was oblivious to their cries for parental policing and attention. That was until a button was pressed switching on a hip hop channel. Despite it being the afternoon, a favourite of Marge's came on - 'The Whisper Song' by the Ying Yang Twins.

She jumped to her feet, "BART, LISA, GET TO YOUR ROOMS, HOW DARE YOU PUT A NAUGHTY CHANNEL ON LIKE THIS?!" their mother bellowed.

The two children froze in confused terror before scampering off upstairs.

"Beat the pussy up, beat the pussy up!"

"Oh noo," Marge exclaimed as another memory re-emerged: It was of her dancing in a club with some strange man behind her, pressed right up against her as she ground her ass into his lap. The image stayed with the housewife as she tried to recall more but the memory just wouldn't come. Who was this man? How could she let herself act like that? What was happening to her?

The dainty housewife didn't know what to do with herself. Was this the end of her marriage? Would the children ever be able to respect her again? Or was this something she could sit on, keep to herself until her dying day? Regardless of the answer, Marge had to find out more, extract more from her memory.

Homer was still sound asleep when she checked and the kids, for once, were occupied in their rooms just glad to be back from their aunties'. The flustered housewife reached for the phone and called Aneesha.

A groggy voice answered, "Um, Hiiiiiiii".

"Oh, hi Aneesha, its M-Marge" the 40 year-old breathed nervously. "Look, umm, Aneesha, I need, really need to talk about last night!"

"Oh Marge, hey! Are you coming over? I think Markus is waiting for you or something."

There was a pause as Marge gasped on the other end of the phone, "Hah, huh, come over? M-Markus? Nooo, I'm not coming over, I need to talk to you!"

"Oh Marge, I'd love to but I really need to sleep," the teen croaked. "Hey, are you coming out tonight, we're heading to some clubs the other side of town - really great music there, you'd love it!"

"NO! Absolutely not, young lady, I'm certainly not going any more…"

"Markus will be there…" the redhead sung invitingly.

The mother of 3 went into palpitations, "Markus, hah, aha, remind me which one he is again?"

"What? You don't remember? Damn, last night?! You got turned, girl - you earned your stripes!"

"Earned my stripes?" the housewife answered confusedly.

"Look, Marge, I gotta go."

"Hello? I need your help! Hello?" There were some slurping sounds on the other end of the phone.

The teen's voice suddenly re-appeared in the receiver, "Look Marge I'm going, I'll send your MyPhone the contact details of someone who can help. Find her, she can help you get your money back."

"Money back? I want my memory back!"

The phone went dead. A moment or two later her MyPhone buzzed with the contact of a mysteriously named CC. Lady. A following text from Aneesha urged Marge to visit her in person.

Marge dismissed it and sat in the kitchen in silence. 2 hours until she had to start making dinner. The clock ticking. Markus? Who on earth is Markus? Was he the owner of the strange house she woke up in this morning? She didn't see anyone when she let herself out, she remembered that much.

Marge's restless hands picked up her MyPhone. She played a game for 2 minutes then quit it and glanced at the contact again. CC. Lady? Who could that be? The address was only 10 minutes drive from here. Marge loaded it into her map program and waited and thought. Above her head came the thud of Homer waking up.

"I can't face Homer right now, I need to know what happened." With her destiny decided for her, the bleary blue haired beauty stood, grabbed a hat and a long coat and left the house. A note on the side informed the family she was out shopping.

Bart and Lisa were talking in Maggie's room. "That's why she's so mad, Bart. Dad missed their anniversary…"

"Big wow, Homer does that ever year," Bart flippantly replied.

"But it has an effect, Bart. Women are like this. They remember. It builds up."

Her brother impatiently groaned, "Huuuuuuuhh, how long's it gonna last?"

"Oh most naive Bart," Lisa started, "things just aren't that simple with women. I suspect that mom will launch a long campaign against dad, letting him know that she's not happy and she wants him to change. Jabbing him just when he starts to forget and be his normal self again."

The 12 year old rolled his eyes, "Oh lord, more drama."

Marge meanwhile had reached the address. It was a rundown shack at the end of a dirt track. She half expected Cletus to come walking out. Clad in her long coat and concealing cap, Marge approached the dilapidated hovel.

"Hello?"

No answer.

"Helllllooooooo?"

"MEEAAAAAAAOOOOWWW" a cat came flying at Marge before the crazy, jabbering cat lady emerged.

"Hello!"

"EEYAAAUUJJJAAYYYAAAHHH" the demented woman jabbered.

"Please stop! I need you your help! To help me remember something!"

"EEENNNNJJJJAAAAYYYAAAHHH"

"PLEASE!" Marge screeched.

There was a silence. The cat woman blinked. "Why didn't you say so then?" she responded in a surprisingly posh voice.

"I was trying to before you threw a cat…" Marge composed herself, "Look, can you help me?"

The ragged woman nodded, "Of course, come in and sit down." She showed Marge to a table that had claw marks all over it. "What do you need me to do?"

"Well, I um" Marge began shamefully, "I need to remember everything about what I did last night. Every detail. C-can you help?"

The old woman rummaged around in an open drawer before returning to the table with a pack of tarot cards, "Of course."

Unimpressed, Mrs Simpson stared dead-eyed at the feline fanatic, "Um, I don't think tarot is going to help me."

"4, 3, 2, 1 and sleep." Marge's head instantly dropped, eyes closed. "Fool. You never suspect the hypnotic cats. Why do you think people spend days watching them on YouTube?" The cat lady digressed, "Okay Marge, you are going to stay asleep until I say 'wake.' Once you are awake, you will recall everything about everything you did last night."

There was a pause, "Wake!"

Marge instantly awoke with a revelatory look on her face, something between a grin and a look of horror.

"Hello? Marge?"

"Oh, hello," the big-bootied 40 year-old answered as if meeting the old cat woman for the first time.

"Okay, Marge, start at the beginning and tell me everything about last night."

"Welllll," the housewife enthusiastically began…


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6 **

Marge began recounting the previous night's encounter to the Crazy Cat Woman…

The taxi ride was all too short for Marge and very soon they arrived at the club. The housewife's heart was racing and she was considering excuses to not come inside. "Could I say I feel ill? Could I say I've made a huge mistake?" Her hands shook a bit.

Before she could say anything Angie and Kaylee interlocked their arms with hers and marched her towards the imposing club door. A similarly imposing, black bouncer was stood in front of it checking identifications. He looked Marge up and down, the housewife standing well over 7ft tall with her totem pole of hair. Fortunately, there were not many people queuing at 8pm and only Kaylee and Aneesha were ID'd. Their fake IDs held up though and they were welcomed in by familiar faces.

The music was quite low and the dancefloor was filled only with dry ice through which multi-coloured lights flickered. It had been so long since Marge had been to a disco. But, she suspected, this wasn't a disco, it was a club. It was much more serious than a disco. This was an objectifying place, the stage set for a sexual battle between men and women, a libidinal jungle in which to flaunt your stuff: ritualistic, dressed-up foreplay. "Oh, what am I doing here?" she gulped. "Homer," was her answer, but right now she was softening to him.

The forbidden, the unknown, the new lay in front of Marge. The cocktail of these emotions in her body forced her to down her first drinks very quickly. 4 drinks later and significant chatter emanated from the group of white women as the club started to swell and the lights were turned down for mood and greater anonymity.

Marge had spent so much time conversing with the girls that she was shocked when she finally took stock and looked around. The once deserted club was now filled with faces and not many of them white. Her liberal side told her that it was refreshing to be in a place like this but her more conservative side was uneasy. She needed another drink but, as Angie reminded her, it was her round.

The housewife swallowed hard and peered across the club. It was dark and hazy; in the distance she could spy couples canoodling and groups of guys talking and drinking. She was a little unsteady on her heels as she neared the bar, conscious that many eyes were now following her.

5 minutes later and Marge was still trying to get served.

"Um, excuse me? Excuse me?" she asked a little meekly.

10 minutes later and Angie was behind her asking what the hold up was. Marge glanced over at the girls sat there without their drinks and felt ashamed that she was unable to get the 3 waitress' and waiters' attention.

The waiter finally turned to serve Marge only to give his attention at the last moment to the tall man stood next to the housewife. She grunted in anger, "I can't even get noticed in a club!"

"Hey!" the tall man bellowed at the waiter who shrunk backwards, "this lady has been waiting to be served for 20 minutes." The waiter just nodded at him.

The tall man placed his large hand on the small of Marge's back, beckoning her to talk, "What do you want, darlin'?"

She tiptoed to shout into his ear, "4 cocktails!"

"What type, honey?"

The housewife suddenly became hesitant as her eyes locked with this sharp-suited, well-groomed, dark-skinned man. Her eyes focused on his diamond stud earring, "sex on the beach!"

"Saxophone bee?" he misheard.

The music suddenly stopped only for Marge to scream, "I WANT SEX ON THE BEACH!"

Laughter broke out among the man's nearby friends, "Give it to her, Markus!" one of them quipped. The man shot them a look.

"No problem," the man ordered their drinks with his hand still warming the married lady's back.

"Oh, thank-you so much" she gushed as much from nerves as anything, "can you send them to our table?"

"Of course." The deep voiced man picked up the bill too as Marge forgetfully excused herself.

Angie and the girls leaned over, eyes and smiles wide. "Oh my god, Marge, who was THAT hunk?" questioned Kaylee enthusiastically. They'd clearly forgot about how long the drinks had taken.

"Oh him? He's the gentleman who ordered my drinks."

"He's just pure hotness!" Aneesha enthused, "Did you get his name?"

"Umm, Markus, I think!"

The girls all glanced at each other with shock, "Marge! Is he into you?"

The blue-haired woman blushed the same shade as her red satin dress, "Ohhh, he wouldn't like someone like me!" There were a few raised eyebrows.

She paused, looked back at him at the bar and reconsidered, "would he?"

The night continued in a whirlwind of conversation and drinks, alcohol gradually quietening that dissenting conservative voice in Marge's head. The music commensurately became louder and louder until the thud of the familiar 'Play' by David Banner caught Marge's attention.

"I love this song," Aneesha exclaimed.

"Me too!" Marge concurred heartily. "I wonder if we're going to dance?" the housewife thought to herself.

"David Banner's so hot - tall, dark and handsome, eh Marge?" Angie, Kaylee's mom, added with a wink. The housewife's eyes bulged, "Ummmm, I suppose…"

"OK girls," Kaylee, Aneesha's best friend, addressed the table, "shall we take it to the dance floor?" The three stood up with Marge sheepishly following.

The songs thudded as the women danced in a reassuring circle facing each other. More than a few times, Marge felt a hand on her ass, copping a feel as people brushed past. There was little she could do about it, so the married woman just let it slide. Besides, she considered, its nice to actually be noticed.

At 11pm the atmosphere suddenly changed. Some lights illuminated a section of the stage and several workers cleared the area. The DJ took to the microphone, "Ladies and Gentleman, put yo hands togetha for the BOOOTAAAAYYYYY BAAAAATTLLLLLLLE!"

The crowd hollered and gathered around before 3 curvaceous ladies, each numbered for identification, took to the stage. Number One was wearing hotpants, Number Two wore ultra tight leggings and Three wore a miniskirt. As the thud of the music kicked in each of the women instantly lowered their ample assets to the floor, gyrating hips and shaking their goods much to the delight of the crowd. The women went through several clearly well practised routines before the music stopped and the crowd cheered.

"OK, shout it out, who is the winnerrrrrr?!" the DJ crowed.

The crowd clearly preferred Number 3, a black woman with a short black miniskirt and skimpy white thong beneath. She was congratulated with a bottle of what looked to be champagne.

Marge clapped with the rest enjoying the show, although it did objectify those women an awful lot, she noted. But… as long as they liked it, though, perhaps it was ok?

Just then Marge felt a heavy slap in the middle of her back. She turned to find Angie grinning broadly.

"Angie?" the Simpson's matriarch squinted, "What did you do?"

"You're number 2, Marge!" Kaylee's mom snickered, before sticking a 1 on her daughter and a 3 on her own back.

Aneesha beckoned the uncomprehending housewife near, "I'll sit this one out but I'll film it on my phone!"

Marge looked nonplussed, "Film what?" Then it struck her - numbers, filming… "Booty Battle?!" the housewife cried, "but, but" she panted, "I'm, I'm married… with kids! I can't have men staring at my… at my…"

"Oh come on Marge," red haired Aneesha persuaded, "its just a laugh, and you might win a bottle of wine!"

The 40 year old's hands visibly shook and she quickly scanned the crowd for any familiar faces. She had fantasised about this for a long, long time but how could she show her face at church again with this stain on her soul?

Marge bit her quivering bottom lip, "oh God, why am I so turned on? What am I going to do?" It felt so wrong for a white mother of 3 like her to be here like this, in heat with her pussy tingling and swollen in anticipation of the unknown. Perhaps it made sense? Here she could flaunt her stuff and prove that she was still beautiful, still desirable and worthy of being noticed in some way. Even if she didn't win, perhaps just a couple of complements would be enough?

Before she knew it, the next round had finished and the ladies were being beckoned to the Booty Battle stage. She glanced nervously at the crowd as she rose up the steps, each with their eyes on a different part of her body. "OK Marge" she thought to herself, "just don't show them too much."

'Birthday Cake' by Rihanna filled the club, its ringing synths and sexual energy flowing. It wasn't exactly fast but the volume was dizzyingly loud.

Both mother and daughter, Angie and Kaylee, were already down and dancing before Marge had even begun. It wasn't the easiest in her heels as she turned her back to the crowd and squatted. The movement was more nervous than sexy, particularly since Marge could feel her satin dress straining heavily against her tits and ass.

"Oh gosh, all those people - what are they looking at?"

The housewife tried to shake it but her dress had other ideas. Her 45 inch booty kept tugging the dress down over her tits forcing her to hold it in place with her right hand so her boobs didn't spill out. Uncomfortable, Marge gulped preparing for the inevitable rejection when the music ended.

Next to her, Kaylee was moving fast and energetically. Lapping up the attention from the audience, the youngster shifted dangerously close to the edge of the stage and on one particularly emphatic drop of her booty, disaster struck. The spike of her heel slipped from the edge of the stage and the teen began to plummet only to save herself by clawing onto some nearby fabric. The fabric of the dress of one Mrs Simpson of Evergreen Terrace. The already straining dress ripped downwards causing Marge's breasts with their large, engorged areoles and nipples to bounce into view.

The housewife frantically scrambled to cover herself.

Having averted disaster, Kaylee quickly returned to twerking as if nothing had happened. Marge meanwhile was still collecting her dress and shattered ego, a hail of wolf-whistles and cat calls coming her way.

The trauma was complete.

Defeated, the drunken housewife pulled and tugged at the dress until it covered her modesty, little knowing that behind her, the huge globes of her ass were now completely exposed. The crowd went insane.

"Somebody slap some oil on that ASS! WOOH!" the DJ suddenly proclaimed enthusiastically.

Marge stopped fixing her dress and glanced behind to find all eyes and many mobile phones were now transfixed by her great white ass.

She gasped at the sight, "Oh… My… Lord!"

"Get twerkin', girl!" the DJ gruffly commanded Marge as Rihanna's song built up to the final chorus. Free of her dress and fuelled by all the attention, Homer's wife proudly stuck her ass out and began to twerk like her life depended on it. One beachball like globe crashed into the other sending pleasing shockwaves out across her entire ass. Nestled in between was her scandalously skimpy thong, through which Marge's deeply aroused pussy could easily be seen.

It was an x-rated, twerking masterclass.

The song regrettably ended and the ladies were beckoned to their feet. Marge covered her bare breasts with her arm, dress still scrunched up around her midriff.

The DJ went through the results as Marge's eyes darted over the many men who'd been gawping at her body. Kaylee received a smattering of applause, her mom not much more. When it came to Marge, the place went crazy.

"We have a WINNNAAAA!" the DJ loudly announced, handing Marge a bottle of champagne.

The housewife took the bottle in utter disbelief, "I, I… won?" The neglected wife was so stunned that she forgot about her breasts. More hooping and hollering followed and the giddy blue haired lady had to be led away by Kaylee and her mom.

The Crazy Cat Woman was feeding one of her kittens as she listened to the hypnotised blue-haired housewife recounting the story of last night with great zeal. "Is that everything that happened, Marge?" she enquired.

"Oh my, no! Not by a long way." She paused for breath before continuing, "I went to the toilet and fixed my dress only to find I then couldn't find Angie and Kaylee. Fortunately, I did see Aneesha, so I followed her back to a table. But by the time I got there I found she wasn't alone…"


End file.
